


Experimental Philosophy

by storm_of_sharp_things



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Eames' Stupid Cupid Exchange, Fluff, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Philosophy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22322530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_of_sharp_things/pseuds/storm_of_sharp_things
Summary: Eames' Stupid Cupid Exchange 2020Prompt for Arthur/Eames: duality + serene + spiritual (go nuts with interpretation!)Arthur and Eames find themselves in a situation no one expected after an accident during a job. A little story stirred by the thought of a Janus figure with Arthur's and Eames' faces.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 55
Collections: Eames' Stupid Cupid 2020





	Experimental Philosophy

**Author's Note:**

> For [mizunoir](https://mizunoir.tumblr.com/), whose artwork is stunning and gorgeous! 
> 
> I may have gone a little nuts with the interpretation ;)

They’d been in a Tibetan monastery; Arthur was pretty sure he remembered that right, though he couldn’t remember why they’d been there. He remembered the chill of the winter winds sweeping by outside, the bare mountains and snow through the thick windows, stark against the riotous colors inside. Arthur recalled stroking his fingertips against wood painted in red and orange and yellow, and a blue so bright it ached against the warmer tones.

 _Plato’s theory of forms is probably our earliest recorded concept of dualism_. Had Eames been lecturing him on philosophy as they walked the cool stone corridors? _He had the idea that the world we perceive through our senses is only a shadow of the real world_.

“Plato’s Cave,” Arthur said, struggling through his confusion, Eames’ words and the dance of firelight against the stone blocks triggering long-buried knowledge.

Eames’ response was delighted and only lightly laced with mockery. _Very good, darling! So we don’t have to start entirely from scratch_.

Arthur blinked and found he was staring up at the ceiling of a hospital room, confused. He’d been expecting stone and brightly painted wood, chill air stirring colorful banners, Eames’ warmth palpable next to him.

“Oh my god, Arthur! You’re awake!” Arthur winced at Ariadne’s shrillness. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she leaned into view over him. “Sorry, sorry. What do you remember?”

He swallowed, becoming aware of pain. “The monastery...walking with Eames...” He felt a spike of alarm at Ariadne’s expression. “Eames?”

She pressed her lips together, worried and sad. “You only remember the monastery?”

_In pursuit of historical dualism, we next move to Aristotle, who decided that the intellect couldn’t be limited to a material part of the body since it wasn’t restricted to analysing just one type of input. It could take advantage of all the senses and must, therefore, be separate from the senses._

Arthur blinked again, hearing Eames’ voice as clearly in his head as if the forger were standing there, and relaxed. “The monastery was a dream. We were in a dream. My dream.”

She nodded. “What else?”

“We were...” Arthur frowned. “We were preparing to extract information from...a financier?”

“That’s right,” she said as she rested her hands gently on his arm, her eyes red and tired. Arthur scowled at the IV inserted there, near her small fingers, following the line up to the slumping bag of fluid hanging from the pole near his bed. Ariadne glanced at it, then back to Arthur. “Just saline. They wanted to give you the standard coma cocktail, but Yusuf talked them out of it.”

“Coma?” Arthur tried to sit up but gasped as his body cramped all over.

Ariadne scowled as she tried to hold him down without pressing anywhere. “I suck at this! Yusuf...”

Yusuf appeared beside her, holding a hand over Arthur’s forehead to prevent further motion. “You do suck at this. Arthur, you were unconscious for almost two days. While you and Eames were in the dream, there was a minor earthquake and the wall collapsed on you.”

 _An earthquake, hmm? That explains a great deal. But that also reminds me again of Plato’s allegory of the cave and how early Christianity went through an influential neo-Platonic phase that led right into dualistic thinking. St Thomas Aquinas said, very specifically (that’s just for you, petal) that the immaterial soul and the material body were separate, and that a human being, by definition, is a soul housed in a body. The foundation of the philosophy of dualism right there._ Eames chuckled. _Foundations, walls...amusing how we keep circling back._

Arthur clutched at Yusuf’s hand. “Where is Eames?”

Yusuf’s eyes flicked past him to what Arthur realised was another bed in the hospital room, but one surrounded by medical devices, Eames’ body on the bed too still and pale beneath the bruising and bandages and the various tubes and catheters. Arthur felt a lightning chill shoot through him and tried to scramble out of the bed, but Yusuf and Ariadne managed to hold him down.

“Arthur!” Yusuf said fiercely. “Stay _still_. He’s alive, just...”

Ariadne choked down a little sob. “He’s not there. He’s on life support because they think he’s brain dead.”

After a moment of darkness, Arthur blinked up at the ceiling of the hospital room, fighting a bewildering sense of déjà vu.

_You must listen, darling, this is important. Dualism didn’t come into formal existence until René Descartes in the 17th century, when he posited what came to be called the mind-body problem._

“You’re dead,” Arthur said, quietly, not looking to the side where he could hear the quiet electronic beeping and mechanical sighing of the equipment. He felt a roil of sick dread swell in his belly at that thought of that vacant body laying there, limp and empty.

“He’s not _dead!_ ” Ariadne hissed angrily from where she was slumped in the chair near his bed.

 _Arthur,_ **_listen_** _. Good old René, firmly ensconced as he was in the Age of Enlightenment, reasoned that there was a difference, and yet also a relationship, between the mind, which is consciousness and self-awareness, and the brain, which is the physical seat, as it were._

Arthur focused on Ariadne and fumbled for the bed controls, raising the head of the bed so he could rest more upright. A wave of dizziness passed through him and he closed his eyes, only opening them again as everything settled.

 _The important bit, I feel, is that while René could not logically prove the existence of his_ **_body_** _, the existence of his_ **_mind_ ** _was irrefutable since that’s what he was using to wonder about the whole thing._

“Cogito, ergo sum,” Arthur murmured, wondering if he were going insane.

_Precisely, love._

Ariadne leaned closer. “What?”

“I think, therefore I am,” Arthur said absently to her as Eames continued.

_So what I’m saying, darling, and this is the really significant bit that we’ve been working up to, is that dreamsharing has now pretty conclusively proven that Cartesian duality, the division of mind and matter, is true. I know this since I am here, with you, while my physical body is across the room over there._

There was a moment where the entire world seemed to gel into stillness as Arthur managed a sort of awkward and flailing internal scan to meet what could only be Eames, inside his mind, a whiskey-and-velvet warmth where before there had only been himself.

“Fuck,” Arthur said with deliberate emphasis, which he felt summed up the entire situation. Ariadne and Yusuf both stared at him in concern.

_Alright there, Arthur? I was trying to be careful not to bodge this up._

“Eames isn’t gone.” Arthur raised a hand to scrub at his face weakly. “He’s in my head. In my body, with me. And we have to put him back in his.”

_There’s my favorite point man! Immediately to the practical. But think of the philosophical debates this solves! And the new ones it raises!_

“No,” Arthur said flatly. “My head hurts and I don’t want to discuss philosophy with you.”

“Arthur...” Yusuf started cautiously, staring at him in clear concern.

Arthur glared at him. “Where’s the PASIV?”

“It was crushed beyond repair by a chunk of masonry.” Yusuf shrugged, trying to surreptitiously compare Arthur’s pupils.

“We need another one. Immediately. I need to make some calls, where’s my phone?”

Ariadne chewed on her fingertip nervously. “Crushed beyond repair by a different chunk of masonry. Arthur...”

_Hmm, perhaps I can help here, pet. Tell Yusuf I hid him in my wardrobe when Tomasina’s mother came looking for him and then the door jammed and I had to unscrew the hinges to get him out, but the whole time he was complaining about kneeling in a pile of my dirty underthings._

“I’d have been complaining, too,” Arthur said, forced into a shadow of a laugh. “Yusuf, you hid from Tomasina’s mother in Eames’ wardrobe, in a pile of his dirty laundry, specifically his underwear, and the door stuck and Eames had to take off the hinges to get you out.”

Yusuf’s jaw hung open as he stared at Arthur.

_Remind him about the blue vial._

“What about the blue vial should I be reminding him?”

Yusuf gasped.

_Now isn't really the time for talking about proper grammar, is it, darling?_

“No. Is the headache this bad because you're in here? I mean, you're not a small guy.”

_If we were talking about taking up physical space, I might be offended._

“I don’t think I understand,” Ariadne said, staring between Yusuf and Arthur.

Yusuf waved his arms. “No one else could know that but Eames!”

Arthur shrugged at him, manfully restraining the ‘that’s what I _said_ ’ that wanted to emerge.

Ariadne’s brow furrowed, fear and hope clambering all over her face. “If I were to bring up being drunk in a Paris night club...”

_I’m not sure whether she wants me to apologize for being arse over teakettle in love with you and therefore unaccommodating when she drunkenly propositioned me or whether she wants me to mention the bright orange brassiere she was wearing at the time._

“I...you were in love with me?” Arthur, stunned, stared over at Eames’ body on the other bed.

“Holy fuck, it’s Eames!” Ariadne shrieked.

Arthur winced at her volume. “And you. You actually own an orange bra?”

She shrieked again and threw herself onto the bed, wrapping around Arthur in a painful hug.

_I’ve loved you for years, you magnificent twit._

Arthur ignored his body’s discomfort and held on to Ariadne with one arm and grabbed Yusuf with the other hand, needing the physical touch to anchor him against the surge of his emotions.

_At the moment, I honestly don’t know why I’ve never told you._ Eames was thoughtful, musing half to himself as the hospital quietened around them in the night. _I mean, I know I_ ** _felt_** _like I couldn’t, but right now it seems like such an easy thing to just say. It makes me wonder if the body, the hormones and physical embodiment and such, has that much influence over the mind. Strange to think that we really may not reason all that clearly when embedded in fallible flesh._

Arthur yawned. “Technically, I think you’re still in a body.”

Eames snickered lewdly. _My darling,_ ** _this_** _is not what I was expecting from my first time inside you._

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Also wondered when you’d get around to some form of that line.”

_Mmm. The normal urgency of that was also muted. Interesting._

“So our theory is that, because I was the dreamer, when we got knocked on the head, you ended up in here with me.”

_A theory that implies our consciousnesses travel to the dreamer when we’re under. That the dreamer is, in fact, hosting the whole thing._

“I wonder how the deeper levels work then. Are we still in the dreamer of the first level or do we shift to the next dreamer?”

_Possibly leaving an anchor line or something to link between or follow back? It may explain the necessity of coordinating the kicks. Although..._

Arthur groaned, feeling a warning twinge at his temples.

_My poor darling. Let’s not induce a further headache. Yusuf will be back tomorrow with a PASIV. Do you think you can sleep?_

Arthur made a tired noise and let himself drift off.

Though it wasn’t exact, the trees reminded Arthur of his family’s cabin in the mountains, and then he remembered the hammock he spent hours in as a kid, strung between two pines right at the slope of the hillside looking down at the river.

“Astounding view,” Eames said lazily from behind him, setting the hammock swinging as he shifted to more comfortably cradle Arthur. The air was crisp, autumn edging into winter, and Arthur was glad of Eames’ warmth along his back. He exhaled, relaxing into the strength and security of the arms around him, and inhaled an elusive hint of cedar and bergamot and aged leather.

“You’re taking this very well, pet.”

“I’m not the one stranded away from his body.” Arthur made a tiny shrugging motion with one shoulder and watched two hawks circle each other on an updraft, because what was a dream without symbolism, obvious or otherwise? “How are you so calm about this?”

Eames snorted. From the angle of his chin on Arthur’s shoulder, he was also watching the hawks turn effortlessly and elegantly on their wingtips, sweeping overhead, almost touching, into a new circle. “I’m with you. And I trust you. We’ll figure it out, and in the meantime, I’m where I’ve wanted to be for a long time. But you’re the one sharing his body with someone you’ve been dancing around for years. And if I know anything about you, petal, it’s that you’re a very private person.”

Arthur considered that. While it was true, he didn’t feel any particular concern right now. “According to Yusuf, I was unconscious for a couple of days. Were you aware during that time?”

Eames brushed a light kiss under his ear. “I was. I could hear and feel what was going on, at a bit of a distance, and I could feel you curled up inside yourself, hurt. It made me very protective, so I just curled around you while I tried to figure out what happened.” He huffed a laugh. “Ariadne was very useful, shouting at the doctors, at Yusuf, at you and me. She was almost as good as a narrator, that one.”

Arthur made a thoughtful noise in his throat, then smiled as a frivolous thought arose. “You’ve never been particularly religious, have you?”

Eames snorted. “Nah. My family was C of E and occasional tea with the vicar and showing up for weddings and funerals rarely sets you up for undying devotion to the faith.”

“But you took care of my mind, my spirit, while Ariadne and Yusuf took care of our bodies.”

Eames hummed in asset, arms tightening around Arthur briefly before loosening again.

Arthur couldn’t help it, he snickered. “So that makes you ‘spiritual’ instead.”

Eames paused, then laughed, shaking them both in the hammock. “Are you picturing me sitting on a rock in the wilderness with a man bun, drumming up wild animals to commune with?”

“Well, I _wasn’t_ , until you said that.” Arthur grinned as a pack of wolves emerged from the trees and circled around in confusion, eventually loping past the hammock with deeply dubious looks before disappearing into the woods with dismissive flicks of their tails. “What are you wearing in this stereotype?”

“Well, we can’t all wear the finest silken underthings woven by the handmaidens of Queen Mab herself and dyed in the tears of flowers that bloomed and withered without witness in the stony places of the earth.”

Arthur turned over partially in the hammock to look at Eames as a drift of flower petals fluttered past. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or incredulous that you just came up with that.”

Eames smiled at him, stroking his fingers through Arthur’s hair, delicately carding out a few stray petals. “I like how easy you are to be with, love,” he said softly. “I like the space you’ve made for me here, inside you.”

“It’s a space you’ve made yourself,” Arthur replied, smiling back with a wry twist to his mouth. “You’re like water; over the years, you’ve carved me out by constant friction.”

“You’re not hard, Arthur, for all that you’ve successfully persuaded the outside world that you are. You’re very well protected, but under the suits and the hair gel and the dangerous propensity for every weapon I’ve seen you handle, you are soft and lovely inside.”

Arthur scrunched his nose. “So now I’m a turtle or something?”

Eames grinned. “A snapping turtle, maybe. Snapping Arthur, the most recently discovered species of the order Testudines.”

Arthur regarded him. “You’re also unexpectedly silly,” he finally said, the corners of his mouth curling up.

Eames hummed in contentment, hands moving affectionately over Arthur’s dream body. Winds blew past them with a flurry of snow, empty branches stark against the sky, then the clouds cleared and the trees put forth new leaves that rustled gently in the warmth of the breeze and the brightening sun.

Arthur let slip a sound of exasperation. “Apparently my subconscious has no sense of subtlety.”

Eames smiled. “Wake up, Arthur. Yusuf is back.”

Arthur opened his eyes to find Ariadne and Yusuf whispering fiercely over by Eames’ body.

_They’re not soothing my anxiety._

He cleared his throat. “Eames wants to know if there’s a problem?”

Yusuf turned and smiled a reassurance at him, coming over to push his bed next to Eames’. “No, Ariadne is just arguing for administering painkillers before we start, but I don’t want anything to potentially interfere with the Somnacin, just in case.”

_Ah, delightful. Well, ask if they can have them ready when we wake. I’ve no need to prove anything._

Arthur chuckled. “Eames is comfortable enough with his masculinity to want them at the ready.”

Ariadne nodded with an uncertain smile before she let worry take over her face. She hooked the PASIV into Eames’ IV while Yusuf did the honors for Arthur. “Whenever,” she said, her hand hovering over the device as she chewed her lip.

Arthur nodded to her and let his eyes close. “Give us five minutes.”

Eames glanced around at the thick stone walls and brightly painted wood, rich with the colors of fire and earth and sky. “Back at the monastery, pet?”

“It seemed appropriate,” Arthur said with a smile as they moved into the main hall, walking between rows of cushions and columns.

Eames took a seat on one of the sets of cushions, neatly folding himself into a meditation posture and patting the set beside him. “When I go back...” he started, then trailed off.

Arthur moved the cushions so that he’d be facing Eames before he settled on them, their knees almost touching, his gaze all but unavoidable. “This contact, this closeness we’ve had...our boundaries fit along each other, we’ve made room for each other, spirit to spirit, and that’s not going to change. That’s something we’ve built over years of dancing, and I’m still going to be as stupidly in love with you when we wake as I am right now. It’s just that you’ll know it too, and we’ll have to do something about it.” A tiny smirk quirked his mouth. “You know, body to body stuff.”

Eames smiled, his eyes alight and his lips parted enough to show just a hint of endearingly crooked teeth. Arthur found himself anticipating the touch of those teeth in reality, shivering a little at the idea of wearing Eames’ bite marks under his clothes.

Then Eames looked down, his hands clenching into fists. “I just hate that I wasted so much time _not_ doing something about it. One of us could have died and we’d never have...”

“Hey,” Arthur said softly, lifting Eames’ chin with his fingertips. “Don’t. That’s the past. We can’t change it, but,” he took Eames’ hands in his, twining their fingers together, “the Buddhists believe that suffering arises from wanting the moment you are in to be something other than it is. This is a good moment, one where I wouldn’t want it to be anything else.”

“They won’t all be good moments,” Eames said tentatively.

“No, but they’ll be moments with you.” Arthur smiled, wrinkling his nose a little at their emotional excesses. “And I’m not going to worry about the future beyond ensuring that we have one.”

Eames turned their hands over in contemplation before kissing Arthur’s fingertips, then met Arthur’s gaze squarely and nodded. “But we’ll keep talking, right? Communicating? Even if it gets harder?”

“I promise to keep trying,” Arthur said firmly and Eames gave him a lopsided grin.

“Fair enough. Well then...”

Ariadne was shrieking again as she pulled the breathing mask off Eames’ face.

“Drugs,” he rasped plaintively. “Please.” Ariadne pushed the plunger on a small syringe already inserted into the IV line and, after a moment, Eames sighed and relaxed. “Oh, that’s better,” he murmured with a silly little smile.

Ariadne was crying and laughing and Yusuf was smiling broadly. “We are going to push back so many boundaries of scientific knowledge,” he said, rubbing his hands together gleefully.

“No,” Arthur and Eames said at the same time.

“But...”

Eames reached out for Arthur’s hand with a loopy smile. “Find some other guinea pigs, Yusuf, _we’ve_ got a lot of time to make up for.”


End file.
